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Old 10-09-2013, 04:23 PM   #1
doubtfulsalmon
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if only god was a better upholsterer.

it is fascinating how we fall apart. granpa is the chair he sits in, and always has been; all four and two legs prop (or two support four), the stuffing leaks out from the unbuckled belt at his middle, does not hold up the over-weathered/under-cleaned trousers. they flap limply, hiding his shape: they are his sagging fallen face, mouth fallen open, he has false-teeth forgotten why he needs it and grunts into a gordon's gin, or a sherry, coating his long cobweb stubble with unseen tears.

it blankets him

with frying smell from last year or next year or the year before. he does not know when he last washed. yesterday is the same as today, they have the same laws, the same drinks, the same words: i am afraid.

he never says them, or thinks, or instincts, but they hang in his crippling body odour (why he can't walk) and fill the room - he coughs to use the house as his lungs, his are calcified and water tight because he never takes a bath to soften them up.

the chair makes him how he is. it mutters in baby sounds and scratches his thoughts like asbestos: carcinogenic, he cannot separate them from his conscience so they grow
grow
grow
grow
grow and flow faster than he could walk so his hips shattered as he tried to talk them down, talk them out of it - his head, that is. sober, they drag him out, and he can't bare to look in; with each quivering tip of a crusted, dusted tumbler he is a lifetime closer to before she went.

Last edited by doubtfulsalmon : 10-10-2013 at 05:31 PM.
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Old 10-14-2013, 06:22 AM   #2
Eccer
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Quote:
Originally Posted by doubtfulsalmon
it is fascinating how we fall apart. granpa is the chair he sits in, and always has been; all four and two legs prop (or two support four), the stuffing leaks out from the unbuckled belt at his middle, does not hold up the over-weathered/under-cleaned trousers. they flap limply, hiding his shape: they are his sagging fallen face, mouth fallen open, he has false-teeth forgotten why he needs it and grunts into a gordon's gin, or a sherry, coating his long cobweb stubble with unseen tears.

So you decided to do story telling, the first stanza...well the phrases works... but they come out a little bit awkward perhaps? Believe me, I know all about that. I like that you tried doing this form into story telling. But in this case, I would rework the way it's setup perhaps?

it blankets him

Hmmm, I might be in a bad mood. But I didn't like this particular line.

with frying smell from last year or next year or the year before. he does not know when he last washed. yesterday is the same as today, they have the same laws, the same drinks, the same words: i am afraid.

he never says them, or thinks, or instincts, but they hang in his crippling body odour (why he can't walk) and fill the room - he coughs to use the house as his lungs, his are calcified and water tight because he never takes a bath to soften them up.

I don't have anything else to say about these two other than. It works

the chair makes him how he is. it mutters in baby sounds and scratches his thoughts like asbestos: carcinogenic, he cannot separate them from his conscience so they grow
grow
grow
grow
grow and flow faster than he could walk so his hips shattered as he tried to talk them down, talk them out of it - his head, that is. sober, they drag him out, and he can't bare to look in; with each quivering tip of a crusted, dusted tumbler he is a lifetime closer to before she went.

This stanza is fecking excellent, perfect flow. The phrases are awesome, and gives it a nice abrupt ending.


I've read this a couple of times, and as it is unusual story telling it works! The first impression I had was that the phrases didn't quite sit as they should have. It felt all a little bit, too compromised ? But you did put alot of thought in this and some of it works. Although good enough imagery and I'm sorry if this offends you in anyway (if it's a relative that which you are referring through your story?)

Last edited by Eccer : 10-14-2013 at 10:49 AM.
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Old 10-16-2013, 12:46 PM   #3
doubtfulsalmon
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Thanks for taking a look at this man. I've been playing around with that "it blankets him" line, I get what you mean about it, and that first bit. I'll see how it turns out.

It is about a relative but no offense taken at all, i'm just glad for the feedback, especially as I haven't written anything like this in forever.
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Old 10-16-2013, 05:41 PM   #4
vintage x metal
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This is very nice; the way it reads comes in and out of focus, disoriented, tying loops it doesn't want to tie and running its fingers through loose ends. It sounds like something to read in the dead hours of the night when the house talks.
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Old 10-21-2013, 02:38 PM   #5
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^ wonderful description. I read this once again and it seems to grow actually (well written!), which is why I wanted to show you this http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/foru...09#post32016409 If you wouldn't mind for a review?
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Old 10-25-2013, 12:43 PM   #6
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Sorry for the late response. I really appreciated this poem a ton. I honestly could feel the passion growing (PUNS!) throughout. I could see this as a great performance poetry piece. Good job!
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Old 10-29-2013, 11:52 PM   #7
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This is really cool, bravo!

My only complaint would be the grammar errors, they wouldn't normally bother me at all in poems, but as this is formatted almost more in a short story format than poetry. They stick out wholeheartedly.

At least to me.

But good, good shit.
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Old 10-30-2013, 04:01 AM   #8
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Thanks for looking in guys.
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